


Home

by theoddling



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Confessions, Homesickness, Love Confessions, Mild Language, Polyamory, but like in a good way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23183842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoddling/pseuds/theoddling
Summary: Emotions run high when a contract brings the witcher and his companions to Y/N's hometown, a place she never thought she'd see again. Confessions are made, feelings are discussed.There are pastries.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 87





	Home

You hadn’t planned on travelling with Geralt and Jaskier, but then a terrified young mage had lost control of their powers at the banquet hosted by a lady you were working for, and Jaskier had suffered a minor head injury, and you didn’t trust him to take proper care of it, so you’d insisted on tagging along, and Geralt had been surprisingly receptive. He would never admit it, but he looked forward to the times your paths crossed over the years, your calm, steady presence like laying a cloth of cool water and herbal balm over rough-scoured abrasions. And the effect it had on Jaskier amused him. The bard was quieter around you, too distracted by staring to chatter, hanging off your every word when you chose to speak and simply absorbing your light like a flower takes in sun when you didn’t.  


“So, Geralt,” you asked as you checked Jaskier’s wound one night, gently tilting his head this way and that to best catch the firelight until you were satisfied that it was healing well. “You still haven’t told us where we’re headed. Or at least you haven’t told me.”  


“Hmm.” He didn’t look up from oiling his armor.  


“I’m merely curious. Even just a region or if it will be a large city, small town, some information. I’d like to know if I can expect to find work too, since not all of us make our living off you killing things.” Your eyes danced teasingly across the fire at him.  


He huffed. “It’s a small mining and fishing town, north of Brokilon Forest.”  


“Oh.” You tried to hide your shock, but Jaskier drew in a sharp breath and you realized that you still had a hand on his chin, nails now digging into flesh. You muttered a quick apology and released him, instantly looking around camp for something else to occupy yourself with to fight off the growing panic in your chest.  


‘Stop it,’ you told yourself, inspecting the repair you had made a week or so prior to Geralt’s cuirass. ‘There are plenty of little towns around that area. The odds of a monster troubling yours and calling down the witcher you travel with are so slim it’s not even funny.’  


“Oh right, you told me about it,” Jaskier said, taking up the explanation to no one’s surprise. “It’s technically within the borders of Bremervoord, but it’s closer to the city of Cidaris than to there.”  


Geralt nodded and you felt your throat tighten. “Town of Pendle,” he muttered, taking the armor out of your hand gently to finish cleaning it, either oblivious to or ignoring your distress.  


“Actually, Y/N. Didn’t you say you were from Bremervoord once?” Jaskier asked, turning his crystalline gaze on you. “Don’t suppose you know anything about it?”  


“I do. I mean…Its be a long time but…” you hesitated, closing your eyes and letting your mind drift. “The town’s small, tightly packed because of where it’s situated in a small cove. Some of the mines have to be rowed out to at high tide actually, but they built all the houses on stilts so that even when the water rises they don’t flood. It smells like a saltmarsh, because it basically is one, but if you’re paying attention you can find other things besides seaweed and fish in the air. There’s a master leatherworker there, Cirion of Pendle, he’s known all over the region, so we can get your armor properly repaired instead of my shoddy patch job…assuming he hasn’t retired…and if you’re near enough to his shop you can smell the glorious stench of the oils he uses. If you can get out to the rocky islands in the harbor and climb up the lighthouse you can see all the way to the castle at Cidaris, and the ocean, it goes on as far as the eye can see and it makes you feel…so impossibly, terrifyingly, wonderfully small. Oh and there’s this baker with the most delicious pastries. If you can get there right when she opens up, they’re so light and flaky with a light cream at the center and with this syrup coating them just enough to make them sticky and...it’s like heaven, I’ve never tasted anything else like them.”  


You trailed off into a sigh of longing. You hadn’t thought about the little town you grew up in for a long time, or realized how much you missed it. Eyes pinched shut and head tilted up toward the starry sky, you tried to capture and hold the memories for a moment longer. And then the total silence of camp started to dawn on you. A creeping dread settled across your shoulders as you slowly lowered your eyes to meet your companions.'.  


Geralt’s eyes were curious, Jaskier’s sorrowful. You knew what it sounded like. You sounded absolutely, childishly, homesick. You never talked about your past with them—other than a brief mention of where you were from, and an assurance to Jaskier that you had never actually met Valdo Marx, and just because you were from near Cidaris did not mean that you shared his views, and of course Jaskier was the superior bard—but they both knew that it was not the happiest one.  


“Anyway,” you said, shifting uncomfortably. “I…I haven’t been back there since…” you caught yourself, about to reveal too much information, and stopped, painting on a smile. “I haven’t been there in years, so I’ll be almost as much a stranger as you two are.”  


~  


You tasted the salt in the air, heavy and metallic on your tongue, long before the ocean came into view. A soft breeze carried the sound of waves and gulls to your ears and you felt your heart begin to soar in a way that you hadn’t imagined it could anymore, step picking up just enough to put you out of pace with the bard you normally strolled beside, closer to keeping with Roach’s gait.  


“If you want to run ahead, I don’t think we could stop you if we wanted to,” Jaskier teased, eyes twinkling with delight at seeing you so unburdened. Geralt hmmed in agreement, and you imagined that sound meant “I could stop you but I wouldn’t even try.”  


You turned around to smile at them, now officially in the lead of your little party. “I’ve no desire to do that, but…isn’t it grand? I didn’t realize how much I missed the ocean until now.”  


Both men found themselves returning your grin, Jaskier with unabashed adoration and Geralt with a warmth that shocked you both.  


Your step began to falter with uncertainty the nearer you drew to your little town. It had been years since you’d been gone. You weren’t sure any of them knew what had happened. What if they thought something horrible of you, blamed you for sweet Nedre’s death…  


You stopped at the point where stone road gave way to wood planked path.  


“I should…warn you…I sort of ran away from home years ago. Or something near to it. So I don’t actually know how…well received I’ll be…” you stammered, twisting your hands together in your skirts.  


Jaskier instantly stepped forward, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your temple swiftly.  


“Darling Y/N. I am quite sure anyone, even if they might have been cross otherwise, would be thrilled to see your beauty walk into a place as…brown…as Pendle?”  


You laughed, blushing at the compliment. Your town was, admittedly a bit monochrome, especially this time of year when the winter storms had stirred up silt and debris in the water and the light died early behind the cliffs. Still, you thought, it had its charm.  


“We won’t be here long anyway. I intend to set out tomorrow at first light to find the creature plaguing the mines,” Geralt added, nudging Roach on further, impatient to reach your destination.  


“First light, or when everyone else rises? Because if you’re waiting for the sun in the morning you are la-zy,” you said, voice taking on the slight burr of an accent they had never heard in it before, as if the mere presence of mudbrick houses and tar-coated boats had changed you in some way. “And the mines aren’t really that far from town - it’s one of the biggest problems around really is the coal dust that gets in the air sometimes - so there’s not really a ‘setting out’ so much as, moving over?”  


Geralt rolled his eyes.  


“Okay, fine. I get what you were getting at Geralt, and that is a bit of a comfort, but there’s still plenty of today left for problems to arise.”  


“What would make it better?” Jaskier asked, taking your still fidgeting hand in both of his, trying to calm you as you walked.  


“Oh. Um. I don’t really know. I definitely think Geralt should go see the leatherworker first thing. I was looking and I really don’t think my repair is going to hold much longer and it really wouldn’t do for that strap to give way in the middle of a monster fight. And obviously we’ll need rooms in the inn. Or I guess we could ask my father if we can stay there but I…” you bit your lip, staring at your feet as you placed one in front of the other.  


“Leatherworker first it is then, we’ll deal with the rest after,” Jaskier declared, making a gesture of finality.  


~  


Your first stop had actually been the stables near the edge of town, giving Roach a warm, dry place to stay before you set out onto the boardwalks of the heart of Pendle. You had grown completely silent as you walked, just ahead of the two men, ready to blend into their shadows at a moment’s notice if you saw someone you used to know.  


Your lower lip stung, having worried it so much that you’d caused an actual split in the skin and continued to bite it from there, the dull pain anchoring you.  


You should tell them everything. But what if they judge you, want nothing to do with you? You should at least warn them…you had no sooner thought to say something when you found yourself falling still, subconscious bringing you to the familiar wooden door quicker than you realized.  


You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and knocked lightly.  


“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” a voice called from the other side. You breath hitched, heart sore.  


“You must be an imposter then,” you called back teasingly. “The Cirion of Pendle I remember didn’t know the meaning of stopping for the night and would never have turned a customer away.”  


There was silence. Jaskier softly muttered that you should probably just leave, a hand on your arm to guide you away. The door flew open.  


Standing in the doorway, staring at you like he had seen a ghost, was an older man. His skin was as rough and wrinkled as the leather he worked on, especially crinkled in laugh lines around dark eyes, and to your dismay, frown lines on his forehead that you didn’t remember being there. His hair was only maybe a shade darker than Geralt’s, faded from the color of its youth over the years, pulled back in a short ponytail.  


“It’s really you…” he breathed, raising a hand to your face, letting it drop before he actually touched you, as if he was afraid that he would pass right through you and didn’t want to know the truth.  


“Hello Papa.” You felt your eyes water as you spoke, smiling softly, apologetically.  


Geralt drew in a sharp breath and Jaskier stared at you in disbelief.  


“How are you here child?” Cirion asked, still whispering like he’d seen a miracle.  


“It’s…um it’s a long story. Can we come in?” you gestured to the two men behind you.  


“Of course, of course. It’s a little cluttered, but I’m sure you’re used to worse.” He stepped aside and ushered you in.  


The smells of warm fire and tanning liquids, musky leather and clean oil assaulted your senses and drew a longing sob from your throat, unbidden, smothered by the hand you cupped over your mouth as you trembled in your father’s familiar workshop. You dropped heavily onto a stool by one of his work stations and tried to pull yourself together. Geralt stepped up behind you, looming protectively, a silent and comforting presence, while Jaskier shook hands with your father, introducing himself and Geralt, complimenting how lovely his shop was through a barely disguised grimace at the smells which were harsh and unfamiliar to him.  


“How does my daughter go from disappearing on her wedding day to coming back home in the company of a Witcher and a bard?” your father asked, incredulous tone just bordering on scolding and suddenly you were five years old again, covered in the tell-tale stains of blueberry pie snuck from the window-sill before dinner.  


“W…we...wedding day?” Jaskier stammered, shocked into near-speechlessness at the repeated developments this day was having.  


Geralt felt a pang in his chest. He looked down at you, still a small ball on the stool, trying to reign in your emotions, and was suddenly struck by how little he knew you. You were married. You had run away from home. Your father, a widower by the fact that he was alone in the workshop attached to his home and hadn’t summoned anyone else at your arrival, was a master craftsman known throughout the region (even he had vaguely heard of Cirion of Pendle in other times he’d passed through). He wondered what other secrets you held, or why you had kept them, the question in his mind followed almost as quickly by a wash of guilt, knowing he had no real ground from which to judge.  


“I thought the worst,” your father continued. “I thought you were dead. When they found the cart…”  


“I’m sorry Papa. I meant to come back, but it never worked out. And I should have sent a letter but I didn’t know how to put everything into words. I…I never meant for you to be hurt,” you explained, voice small.  


“I’m reckoning by the look on their faces, that your friends here are missing some parts of the story too, so why don’t I go put the kettle on and you can tell all of us about it over tea.”  


You nodded meekly. “Lavender?”  


Your father chuckled, smiling softly and patting your knee before moving off toward the kitchen. “I always keep some on hand, hoping you’d find your way back.”  


~  


You gripped the mug of tea that your father handed you tightly to control your trembling. Settling cross-legged into a plush, slightly threadbare chair that had seemed so much larger when you were young, you tried to find somewhere to look other than the faces of the three men around you. Your father and Jaskier sat on opposite ends of the couch across from you, your father comfortably and Jask perched awkwardly on the edge, balancing his mug on a knee precariously. Geralt, who had refused a drink, leaned against the doorway, arms folded over his chest, seeming to stare uncaringly out the window.  


“Nedre was going to be my father’s apprentice, since he had no sons,” you began, eyes finally resting on a cracked brick somewhere above Jaskier’s head and focusing there. “He came from another village, further south. But trade secrets are meant to be kept in families, so a marriage was arranged between him and me. We were both young and had never met each other, until the morning we said ‘I do,’ but he was nice and we got along fine and we would have made things work.” You found yourself feeling like you needed to apologize for the fact that you had partaken in a time-honored and widely practiced custom and tried to shake it off.  


“That evening, after the wedding celebration, we were to take a cart down the coast to his family for a time, with me goods exchanged as part of the wedding and also just our belongings to let us take the journey slowly, get to know each other, that sort of thing. As many young couples do. But we were attacked on the road by bandits. Nedre was so brave…he…he tried to fight them off, but there were too many of them and he wasn’t a warrior.” You bit your lip, fighting back tears at the memories. “They butchered him, took the cart of things, and…took me captive. A few days later they sold me to some corsairs, and I sailed on their ship for a while, til they decided I was more trouble than use and sold me to another group of bandits and so forth for a good two years before I escaped. I met you two for the first time not long after that.”  


“If they were selling you like a pack mule,” Jaskier interrupted with a surprising spike of anger, “they were disgusting, good-for-nothing slavers, not bandits, Y/N.”  


The statement and the emphatic way he delivered it shocked you. You dropped your eyes to meet his, staring at him wide-eyed. You had always considered yourself to be the various groups’ hostage, never a slave. But perhaps he was right. The thought threw you and you sat in silence, locked with his gaze, processing, for several minutes before you dragged yourself back to the crack in the brick and shakily carried on.  


“By then, I was so turned around and lost in the world and it had been two years of misery and drudgery. Coming home seemed impossible, and I thought it might be better if I just didn’t.” You shrugged. “That’s all of it.”  


You looked back away from your brick focal point in time to catch your father swiping at a tear crawling down his cheek and Jaskier looking away from you now, fiddling with the ring on his finger as he often did when he was nervous. Geralt had vanished from the doorway.  


You took a sip of your forgotten tea and grimaced at the taste of it gone cold.  


“I’m sorry I never said anything,” you told Jaskier before turning to your father. “And I’m sorry I never tried to come back or let you know that I was alright.”  


Two set of arms wrapped around you, withdrawing almost as fast and repeating in an awkward dance as both tried to hug you at the same time without intruding on your moment with the other. You laughed before setting your mug to the floor and pulling them both in, disregarding their confused noises in favor of taking the comfort they were trying to offer.  


~  


Geralt paced the boardwalk outside your father’s shop as your father worked his armor and you caught him up on all of the details of your life in the years you had been gone from home, Jaskier hovering around to occasionally chime in with some detail or a snippet of song when the mood needed lightening.  


Something in him stung at the thought of you belonging to someone else. ‘Else’ he chastised himself. ‘Saying else implies she belongs to you, and she doesn’t.’ More than that, he hated that you hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them this story, that you felt guilty for hiding it, that he had in any way caused you to be unhappy. He wanted nothing more than to chase those feelings and memories away, to make sure that you were smiling every day of your life.  


‘You’re an utter fool,’ his inner voice continued scathingly. ‘You went and fell for the same girl as your best friend. Like she’d ever choose you, the mutant freak, over the handsome, charming bard.’  


He growled, his footsteps becoming stomps. This was why he didn’t travel with companions. It led to feelings, complications.  


He turned sharply, walking further from the shopfront, through which he could vaguely make out the sounds of your and Jaskier’s voices, the ring of your laughter, the happiness you had without him there.  


He continued to pace a long trek up and down, not wanting to go too far in case your father needed him for something to do with his armor repairs but also not wanting to be anywhere close to where you were until he could get himself under control. Eventually, his ever-wider ranging movements brought him to another little shopfront, warm and cheerful, and he found himself ducking inside.  
~  


‘Married,’ Jaskier thought, still stunned by the revelation. ‘Maybe Geralt was right that I have a type and it’s more to do with status than appearance or personality. I mean I don’t even have to know it for it to draw me to them…’  


Then he looked over at you, smiling as you regaled your father with a story of you and himself versus a troupe of Brownies while Geralt was off tracking down a ghoul’s nest (which turned out to not exist). He recalled how you had charmed the small fae, perhaps causing just as much trouble as you guided them toward wildly amusing but ultimately harmless pranks instead of the dangerous ones they had been doing, the infectious, gut-aching laughter that had the pair of you clinging to each other for dear life and gasping for air as the enchanted water which drenched Geralt on his return (a terrifyingly well-timed bucket over the inn door responsible) slowly leeched the darkness from his clothes and left him standing in a suit of bright pink. Your soft, reassuring voice echoed in his mind, reminding Geralt that he was not a monster, Jaskier that he had worth beyond mere vapid entertainment, coaxing both of them to relax and to share with you their burdens and let you help when they were tired and hurting and in a need they wouldn’t admit.  


There was so much about you to love, even before your ethereal beauty (that he often complimented and you ignored), that it seemed impossible his attraction was only based on some subconscious or fated desire for those who already belonged to another.  


Besides, your being married—‘widowed’ he reminded himself guiltily—was less a sign you weren’t meant to be his than the way you looked at Geralt sometimes, when he wasn’t paying attention, like he hung the moon and stars. How could he possibly hope to compete with that?  


When he pulled himself from his thoughts, he noticed you staring at him, a small frown tugging at your lips, eyebrows knitted in confusion. Your father’s face was far more, unnervingly, shrewd as he looked up from his craft to watch the bard. He realized belatedly that he had sighed, quite wistfully, out loud at his predicament and scrambled to play it off.  


~  


It wasn’t long before Cirion finished the necessary repairs to the witcher’s armor, even taking the time to reinforce the points where there was not—yet—any damage.  


“We’ll have to try it on him,” your father said with a nod, “just to make sure I didn’t make anywhere too tight, but that should be good as new.”  


“It’s your work, Papa,” you chimed in, “it’ll be better than new.”  


He laughed. “Go bring in your friend, Tadpole. I’m sure you’ve other business yet to attend.”  


You nodded, a familiar comfort wrapping around you at your father’s pet name, rising from the stool on the other side of the bench from him and going to the front door. When you didn’t see Geralt anywhere, you called out his name. Receiving no answer, you sighed and shook your head.  


“He’s wandered off somewhere,” you explained. “I’ll have to go out and find him.”  


“Luckily Pendle’s not so large that losing him will be easy. Still, I’ll come along. A second set of eyes and ears always helps, and I’d like to see more of this place anyway,” Jaskier said, carefully arranging his lute in the corner of the shop, planning to leave it behind for this small adventure.  


“There’s not much to see. It’s really nothing special.”  


“I beg to differ, Y/N. After all, it produced you. That’s pretty amazing.”  


You ducked your head, heat creeping across your cheeks. Still, you acquiesced, and when he offered you a gallant arm, you laughed and placed your hand in the crook of it, as if he were escorting you to a royal ball rather than around a fishing village.  
~  


You and Jaskier had walked the entire eastern side of the village, and still had seen no sign of the witcher. Jaskier was unusually quiet as the two of you walked, and spent more time glancing over at you than he did looking at “the sights of Pendle” or looking for Geralt.  


“Do you have something to say?” you finally snapped, turning to face him and planting your hands on your hips.  


“I…was just trying to make sure you’re alright. Today has been quite…emotional for you, I imagine.” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly.  


You sighed. “Jaskier, I am fine. I would say so if I wasn’t.”  


“We both know that’s bullshit. Geralt might be the one who fights his feelings, but you, my dear, hide them better than anyone I’ve ever met.”  


You glared at him. “I do not.”  


He raised an eyebrow at you and you huffed, turning away again, refusing to let him bait you into this argument in the middle of your hometown.  


“Maybe Geralt went to the inn to take care of getting rooms while he was waiting,” you suggested, changing the subject back to your original task of looking for your companion.  


Jaskier chuckled, deciding not to point out that you were just proving him right, and followed you. When you arrived and there was no sign of him there either, you felt unexpected tears of frustration welling up in your eyes and ducked your head, hoping to brush them away before the bard noticed.  


“Y/N, hey. Talk to me?” he said, taking your hand and looking at you earnestly.  


“It’s stupid, but I just…I feel like I failed my father when I left, and now I can’t even bring his customer back to finish his work so he can turn in for the night. And I’m sure that you and Geralt are judging me for what I did, or failed to do, even if you won’t say it. And I’ve noticed people staring who don’t have the guts to say anything but they’re all wondering what I’m doing here. And it’s just…” you trailed off into a choked-back sob. “It’s too much.”  


Instantly, he pulled you gently closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a tight hug. You clung to him, crying as he murmured comforting nonsense to you, for several long minutes, before pulling away and wiping your eyes angrily.  


“I’m being ridiculous. Let’s just…head back to my father’s and see if Geralt’s beat us there.” You growled in irritation at yourself.  


He nodded, lacing your fingers together and following you contently. The things he wanted to tell you, how he wanted to point out that you fit so well together with him, that he was here for you and you were allowed to feel, it just didn’t feel like the right time to say them. He sighed inwardly, resolving to tell you soon, consequences be damned.  
~  


Geralt carried the small waxed-paper bundle carefully, headed back for your father’s workshop as the sun disappeared over the cliff, water painted pink and gold by the dying light. By now, he had gotten his feelings under control, no longer wanting to dash off into the countryside to find and slowly kill every man who had dared to hurt you or hold you captive.  


Gently, he used his free hand to ease open the door and stepped inside, shocked to see that it was only Cirion, working on his armor in the dim light.  


Without looking up, your father smiled and spoke softly. “Ah, hello. My daughter and your friend went out looking for you. I’m surprised you didn’t pass them on your way.”  


Geralt shifted uncomfortably. “Oh. I, uh, was in a shop. For a while. And took sort of a back road.”  


The older man laughed. “Yes, I can smell Felicity’s pastries from here. They’re Y/N’s favorites, you know. She used to find any task she could for people in town, and as soon as she had a few pennies she dashed off there like the hordes of hell were on her tail to get one.”  


Geralt hmmed. He had guessed by the way you’d talked that you had a particular sweet-tooth for the airy, sugar-coated buns.  


“Well, set them down on that table over there, it’s the only one around here that’s clean, and come try this on. I made a few extra adjustments to it and I want to be sure it fits properly.”  


“You didn’t have to—“ Geralt began, doing as he was instructed when your father interrupted.  


“It’s not charity. You are taking care of my little girl, and she is so happy travelling with you two. The least I can do is make sure you have the best equipment possible for the task.”  


Geralt smiled softly, thoughts conjured of how often you mother-henned him and Jaskier both, the way you had on more than one occasion jumped to their defense when someone threatened him because he was a witcher they didn’t want in their town or heckled Jaskier’s performance. The way just the sight of you, working some odd job and completely unaware your paths were about to cross again, was enough to calm the tempest in his gut when he entered some strange new town, fearing how they would respond to a witcher (even if he would never admit what he was feeling).  


“She takes care of us just as much,” he said softly as he buckled on the various armor pieces your father handed to him.  


“Ah.” Your father nodded sagely, studying the witcher with a calculating eye. “I see…”  
~  


“Y/N?” Jaskier asked hesitantly, pulling you up just short of your father’s door.  


“What is it Jask?” you said, turning to him in concern, unconsciously stepping closer as you squeezed his hand comfortingly.  


“Can we…talk before we go back in?”  


“Sure. Um, let’s go this way.”  


You smiled at him and then led the way past the shop, to the end of the main boardwalk, and skirted the edge of the town until you came to a stop on a little, disused pier. You thought about hoisting yourself up onto one of the rope-wrapped pilings as you had often done to watch the ships come in as a child, but decided it might make conversing more difficult, instead sitting with your back to one, feet dangling off the edge toward the water. You patted the wooden slat beside you, and he nodded, sitting cross-legged, facing you.  


“So…” you trailed off nervously, raising an eyebrow at him to speak.  


“Y/N, you are one of the most beautiful people I know, inside and out,” he took your hand in both of his and ran one thumb across your knuckles, staring down at it. “Every minute I spend with you, I want to spend a hundred more. And seeing you here, where you grew up, finally letting yourself be vulnerable, it only makes me love you more. And I do, love you. I want to be there for you through anything and everything you need me for.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything though, and I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I’m not blind to the way you and Geralt look at each other when you think no one is paying attention. But I just…I felt like my chest was going to burst if I didn’t say it anyway.”  


Your head reeled. Your friendship had always been close and affectionate, and you’d be a damn liar if you said you didn’t find him attractive. The thought of him not being in your life made you feel sick. But was that love? And what of Geralt? You would be just as much a liar if you tried to pretend there wasn’t something unspoken and unaddressed but strong and important between the two of you.  


“Jaskier…” you sighed. “I…I don’t know how I feel and…” you chewed on your lip nervously. “Kiss me?”  


“What?” he shook his head in confused disbelief, as if he were a cat you had just splashed in water.  


“I feel something for you, but I don’t know what to call it. If you kiss me, it might…clarify things?”  


He laughed incredulously. “As much as I think that’s not how emotions work at all, I won’t pass up the opportunity to have kissed you at least once in my life.”  


He cupped your face between his gentle hands, thumbs running across your cheekbones as he held you for a moment, staring in adoration. Teasingly, he pressed his lips to the tip of your nose lightly, causing a rush of heat to flood your face, and he chuckled. Then, gently, he bent his head lower to kiss you properly. It was chaste and cautious, soft lips brushing, barely there, against yours. He tasted of rich spices and hints of lavender. As soon as you touched, something felt clearer than it ever had before, so right and complete that you couldn’t help chasing the feeling. Before you could think, you were pressing harder, practically crawling into his lap as you ran your tongue across his bottom lip in askance. He groaned and pulled away, hands dropping to your shoulders to hold you at a distance and look at you, making you squirm under the intensity of his gaze.  


“Well?” he asked, a smile dancing behind his sky-colored eyes.  


“Kissing you felt so very right Jask but…” you closed your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the crestfallen look on his face. “I’m still unsettled.”  


“Unsettled? Because of what’s between you and Geralt?”  


“That’s the thing, there’s nothing there. At least, nothing we’ve spoken of or done anything about. But, no, not exactly because of that. Both of you are so important to me, and the thought of losing either of you…I can’t stand it. And I thought it was because you’re the best friends I’ve ever had but…I think it’s more than that and I don’t know what to do about it.”  


“Ah. Well, Y/N, you’re not the first person who’s ever felt torn between two people.”  


“I know. And I should probably just think carefully about it and then pick one of you, but I don’t want to lose the other. And if I pick neither, that’s just going to hurt all of us as we pine, unrequited...or not really unrequited because the feelings are returned they’re just not acted on. And I think if we’re all hurting, then it’s going to drive a wedge between us and I’ll lose you both. This is why feelings are stupid and best tucked away and never dealt with.” You glared at him, half-seriously, as if he had been forcing you to explore these things you felt.  


He laughed. You punched him in the arm.  


“It’s not funny,” you growled in an excellent impression of an annoyed Geralt.  


“Oh, dear Y/N, it very much is. But also, what you’re fretting over was not at all what I was going to get at.”  


“What?”  


“Let’s just, go talk to our witcher. I have an idea.”  


~  


Geralt balked at your father’s tone. “What do you see?”  


Your father raised an eyebrow in a familiar challenge and Geralt could now see where you got the expression (one of his favorites that you regularly wore) from. He swallowed nervously. Before either man could say anything, the door creaked open as you and Jaskier entered. Geralt’s eyes fell to the fact that the pair of you were linked, hand in hand, and tried to quell the twist of jealousy. It was not unusual, it didn’t mean anything, he told himself.  


“Ah Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed with a wide gesture, nearly punching you in the face with the hand still twined in yours. “There you are. We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”  


“I’ve been here. For a while.”  


“How does the armor fit?” you asked, sliding out of the bard’s hold to step forward and inspect the witcher with a sure, businesslike gaze.  


“Like a glove.” He nodded. “You weren’t lying about your father being a master.”  


“Have I ever lied to you about anything?” you cocked your eyebrow at him, one and on your hip. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him before there was time to think.  


“Now that the work is done, I’m going to see about dinner,” your father announced. “Tadpole, why don’t you fetch spare bedding from upstairs so the three of you can sort out sleeping spaces.”  


“How much do I owe you for the repairs?” Geralt asked.  


Your father laughed and shook his head as he headed out of the room. “You’re funny, Witcher.”  


Geralt glared at his back until you bumped him with your hip, startling his attention back to you.  


“Can you stop trying to melt my father with your gaze alone? You’re here to help the town, and more importantly you’re mine, so he’s not going to let you repay him for anything. Just accept it.”  


A strange rumble rose up in his throat at the idea, warmth settling at his core when you called him yours. Not waiting for a response (assuming it would just be “hmm”) you left the room to follow your father’s instructions, and Geralt watched you go, mind racing. Jaskier studied his friend, amused and curious as he caught the minute changes in expression, mostly in the eyes, that crossed the witcher’s face.  


“When Y/N gets back,” he said softly. “The three of us have something to talk about.”  


“Hmm?”  


“When she gets back.”  
~  


The conversation did not actually occur until well into the night, after your father had gone to sleep and the three of you sat around in the darkened main room, circled about as if it was a woodland campsite.  


“I have a proposition for the two of you,” Jaskier began. “It’s obvious that there are feelings between the two of you. And Y/N and I had a…bit of a…discussion about the ones between her and I.”  


You felt your face heat rapidly and considered crossing the room to strangle Jaskier, but decided against it since he had already blurted the worst of your secrets and there was no longer a point to shutting him up.  


“Geralt and I,” Jaskier continued, his waving hand just visible in the gloom, “…are Geralt and I, there’s no defining it.”  


You raised an eyebrow at that. You had suspected when you first met them that there was something there besides friendship, no matter how deep of one, but you had never seen anything to confirm it, and as you got to know them it had stopped mattering so much. Now, though, your curiosity spiked again.  


“Y/N was worried that her feelings would mean she’d have to choose and that she would lose one of us to that choice. I see no reason for that when we could just…stop dancing around all these feelings and see what happens between the three of us.”  


You heard Geralt inhale sharply. Your face heated even more, both in embarrassment and at the thought of being with both of them. You had to admit, it sounded pretty perfect to you, but did they really want that? And what if it didn’t work out?  


“Jaskier…” Geralt’s voice was strained, and it sounded almost disappointed. You felt your heart clench painfully, sure that he was about to veto the idea before you could even fully wrap your head around it. “It won’t work.”  


“Why not?” you asked, feeling suddenly challenged, despite the fact that you were anything but certain of the idea.  


“Your…reputation…”  


“Is already toast. I disappeared from court in the middle of the night with two men, both of whom are not lacking in rumors about them. No one is going to say it in earshot because they’re scared to, but there are probably already plenty of people we pass who think I’m your pet whore anyway. It’s not like we would be flaunting the whole thing publicly, so it wouldn’t change anything.”  


“And both of you…witchers are…”  


“Hated?” Jaskier offered with a bitter laugh. “All the more reason to pursue this I think. More opportunities and ways to remind you that they’re all full of shit.” You could practically hear the salacious smirk he offered.  


“Geralt,” you said softly, moving over to sit directly facing him. “If you don’t want this, than say so, and we’ll respect that. But I think…I quite like Jaskier’s idea, at least enough to give it a chance.” You shrugged. “But only if everyone is fully on board.”  


“Why?”  


“Why do I want to make sure everything is actually okay with this? That is a very long conversation about consent versus coercion and what is and isn’t acceptable in—“  


“No,” Geralt interrupted, cutting you off before you could really settle into the rant that both men saw building. “Why would either of you want me? Of all people?”  


“Oh.” You sat, eyes searching his face in the glow of the moon from a nearby window. How could you possibly explain all of the reasons you cared, all of the things he made you feel? There simply weren’t the words for it.  


Leaning forward slowly, so slowly it was like the world had turned to syrup, watching him for hesitation or any sign that he would pull away, you kissed him. You were surprised to find that his taste was sweeter than Jaskier’s, the ale from dinner mixing with a sugary-ness that you couldn’t quite place. Instinctively, his mouth moved against yours as a hand came up to tangle in your hair. You parted your lips invitingly for him, letting out a soft moan as he began to explore your mouth with his tongue, memorizing every inch of it. Reluctantly, you pulled away, gasping for air.  


“I love you Geralt,” you explained breathlessly. “There’s no other way for me to explain it. You and Jaskier both, I love you with every fiber of my being.”  


Gently, he rested his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose against your own. Then suddenly he swore, pulling away and standing.  


“What? What is it?” Jaskier asked, and you both scrambled to your feet, concerned and flustered.  


“Wait here. I…I forgot something,” was all Geralt said before practically fleeing the room.  


You sighed, looking sorrowfully at Jaskier.  


“You don’t think 'forgot something' is code for, 'is already halfway to Roach to run from his feelings literally,' do you?” Jaskier asked, the nervousness in his tone ruining his attempt to lighten the mood.  


You thought you were going to cry, and the bard seemed to sense it, tugging you back down to sit on his pile of blankets, wrapping you in his arms.  


Almost quickly as he had left, Geralt was back, a wax-paper bundle held in his hands as he shifted awkwardly.  


“I..uh…bought these for you. Earlier,” he offered, holding the package out to you.  


Curious you rose to take the package from him. Before you had even untied the twine binding it closed, a wave of familiarity washed over you, and you felt the tears welling up in your eyes. Now you knew where you recognized the taste of his kiss from.  


“Geralt…” your voice was choked with emotion and he lowered himself to sit, not quite touching you.  


“I just…I hope they’re still good. I was going to give them to you earlier…”  


You set the bundle down, throwing your arms around his neck, nearly knocking him prone in the process, and pressed a kiss to his cheek and then another to his lips.  


“Thank you,” you whispered against him.  


He grunted, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and kissing you back with equal force, the precious pastries once again forgotten as you breathed each other in, lips and tongues locked in an intricate, passionate dance.  


Suddenly, you were startled apart by the soft moan of the third part of your trio, almost as forgotten as the baked goods.  


“Wow, Y/N, you were right,” Jaskier exclaimed, voice muffled by the food in his mouth. “These are heavenly.”  


You laughed, shifting off of Geralt’s lap so that you could kiss the bard, who now also tasted of sugar-syrup and sweet-cream.  


Eventually, you settled between the two men, seated across Jaskier’s lap and leaning against Geralt’s chest as the bard offered to feed you the last pastry, and you sighed contently, feeling like you were home for the first time in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was inspired by my own homesickness last week.
> 
> Also, I wasn't really planning for this to be a GeraltxReaderxJaskier fic, it just sorta...happened so I don't know how well worked out. 
> 
> I don't think there is such a pastry as the one I describe, but I'm imagining something between a cream puff and a french cruller donut.


End file.
